George Brown
By George Brown

It was bound to happen sooner or later. After a lifetime of never having so much as a sprained finger Yvonne has experienced her first broken bone; actually, two of them. In medical parlance it’s called a bimalleolar fracture.

It happened two weeks ago Friday. Yvonne was headed to the grocery store and I was headed to the yard to do some pruning. I like to do the pruning when Yvonne isn’t home because she thinks I cut everything too short. Her parting words as she pulled out of the driveway were, “please don’t massacre my flowers while I’m gone.”

“I won’t,” I promised. It was an easy promise to make because deadheading her flowers wasn’t even on my list. As soon as Yvonne was out of sight I began whacking away on shrubs and trees. I soon had a large pile of clippings which I disposed of in the woods so Yvonne wouldn’t see how much I had trimmed.

“Job well done,” I thought to myself as I headed to the garage to put the pruning tools away. But as I passed Yvonne’s flower garden I couldn’t help but notice some of the flowers not only needed deadheaded, they needed some serious pruning. Ten minutes later the pile of clippings was larger than I would have expected so I hurriedly carried them to the woods.

Yvonne arrived home a few minutes later and went straight to her flower garden to see if I had kept my promise. “What have you done to my dahlias?” she cried, with a quiver in her voice. Without waiting for my response she ran into the house, went straight to the bedroom, and closed the door.

I unloaded the groceries and put them away and then awaited my fate, “No doubt a week in the camper,” I thought to myself. I was on the back porch when Yvonne emerged from the bedroom. She didn’t say a word but came running onto the back porch with her left foot drawn back like an NFL punter preparing to kick the ball into the end zone – except her foot was aimed at my behind. At the last second I stepped aside and watched as Yvonne’s foot slammed into a corner post at the top of the back steps. Luckily, as she went down I was able to catch her, preventing far greater harm then a broken ankle.

At the emergency room I covered for Yvonne by telling the doctor she had somehow slipped on a step coming into the house from pruning her dahlias. Yvonne glared at me but I couldn’t tell if the grimace on her face was in anger or from the pain – probably both. “That’s my story and I’m sticking to it,” I whispered to her when the doctor wasn’t looking. “I’ll make it up to you,” I said. “I promise.”

An X-ray confirmed the bimalleolar fracture, and the doctor told Yvonne she would definitely need surgery. “But you will have to wait 7 to 10 days for the swelling to go down. In the meantime you need to keep your leg elevated and use ice packs to help reduce the swelling.” Then the doctor turned to me and said, “You take good care of this girl now.” I nodded affirmatively.

At home I quickly fell into a servant routine, just like those servants on the popular PBS program, Downton Abbey; except, I’m all of those servants rolled into one – butler, housekeeper, footman, cook, launderer, gardener, chauffeur, and so on. I even gave Yvonne a bell to ring any time she needs something. I’ll share more about this in a moment, but first a few words about my carpentry skills. I guess you could say building a wheelchair ramp is my caregiver opus.

All three entrances to our house require going up and down steps, with three being the least required. With my assistance Yvonne hopped up the steps when we returned home from the emergency room but, clearly, a wheelchair ramp was needed.

The recommended slope for wheelchair ramps is a ratio of 1:12. Since the top step of our front porch is two feet off the ground this means we should have a ramp 24 feet long. To build such a structure would be a major undertaking and expense, especially considering we would only need it for a few weeks. Clearly, an alternative plan was needed.

Well, it just so happens I had purchased some scrap plywood at an auction last year. This material, plus an old door stored in the rafters of the garage, should be all I would need to build a temporary ramp. Getting that door down was not easy, but with a bit of sawing, hammering, and screwing the project was completed in a few hours.

“It looks awfully steep,” Yvonne said when she inspected it from the safety of the porch.

“Yes, it’s only about one fourth the length it should be,” I said, “But it’s sturdy and should work for the few weeks we need it.”

“What if you slip going down and let go of me,” Yvonne asked?

“I already thought of that”, I said. ‘You will need to keep you hands on the wheel lock levers. If you feel the wheelchair slip, quickly flip the lock levers. You’ll smoke the tires going down but this should be enough to stop you before you hit the bottom…I think.”

“Really! Are you serious?” she asked.

“No, not really,” I said with a chuckle. “I’ll take you down backwards. If I slip you’ll run over me, which should break your fall. It would be a small sacrifice to make for your safety.”

The next morning we put the ramp to the test to go to an appointment with the surgeon. Yvonne was skeptical as I positioned her backwards at the top of the ramp, but the ramp (and I) worked like a charm.

Getting back to my servant routine, I truly have been happy to do anything and everything I can to please Yvonne– including running every time she rings the bell for things like fluffing her pillows or bringing her team and a magazine to read.

After a few days of experiencing my attentive, loving care, Yvonne’s frustration about the dahlias began to subside, and she remarked, “Honey, I sure do love you and I appreciate all the things you’re doing for me.”

“It’s okay. I love you too,” I said. “I’m just glad I was already retired when this happened. Otherwise, I would’ve had no choice but to put you in a nursing home for a couple of months.”

“What!?” she exclaimed. “Would you really do that?”

“No, silly. I wouldn’t do that,” I said, smiling. The truth is, I’d rather be here taking care of you than hiking the Appalachian Trail.”

“Now I know your lying,” she said, “But that’s okay, because if you ever even think about hiking the Appalachian Trail, I’ll break your leg!”

Oh, by the way, did I mention we celebrated our 48th wedding anniversary the day before Yvonne broke her leg?

George Brown is a freelance writer. He lives in Jackson Township with his wife Yvonne.